Shooo—!
Two massive, unparalleled slashes tore through the heavens, clashing with each other in a titanic contest of strength and skill.
The sky itself and the clouds above split apart under the pressure — not due to the violent collision of Conqueror's Haki Infusion, but purely from the devastating force of two unmatched sword slashes meeting head-on.
Stray remnants of the clash, the leftover cutting winds, streaked out wildly, carving deep scars into the earth and even slicing across the shoreline. Several unlucky Sea Kings lurking nearby were cut cleanly in half, their massive bodies floating lifelessly to the surface.
This horrifying scene stunned even the crew members most familiar with Shanks. In unison, they turned their gazes toward the center of the island.
They knew better than anyone how fearsome Shanks' power was — his unparalleled swordsmanship and monstrous strength were beyond question. And yet… that man, the so-called Hawk Eyes, could actually rival him?
Red and emerald flashes painted the world in clashing light, accompanied by the sharp, tearing sound of the air itself being sliced apart.
After a single clash, the dust began to settle.
From within the swirling smoke, a massive black blade was the first to emerge. Its gleaming edge caught the light as a pair of sharp, hawk-like eyes locked forward from behind it.
With a casual, almost effortless motion, the blade carved through the air, and the force of the swing blew away the lingering smoke.
As the haze dispersed, a lone, imposing figure slowly stepped out — short, neat black hair, a crisp white shirt, and those cold, piercing hawk eyes. Mihawk, gripping his massive black blade Yoru, looked every bit the unrivaled swordsman he was rumored to be.
Opposite him, another figure emerged, his western longsword glimmering as he stepped into the light with a confident, unyielding smile.
"Impressive swordsmanship, Mihawk," Shanks said, his tone solemn, his gaze steady.
Shanks' hand tightened around Gryphon, drawing it back slightly as he prepared his next strike. With a sudden burst of energy, his powerful slash shot forward, swift and radiant like the sun itself.
He knew he couldn't outmatch Mihawk in ranged sword energy — there was only one path left: close combat.
...
"You've gotta be kidding!!!"
"Shanks… he's actually losing in pure slashes??!"
"Even without Haki, this is insane! I've never seen anyone suppress Shanks like this before!!!"
Members of the Red-Haired Pirates watched nervously, their hands tightening into fists, their palms damp with sweat.
Only Orin remained calm, sitting lazily on the yardarm of the mast, one leg crossed over the other as he cradled a small child in his arms, observing the duel with a faint, knowing smile.
"Mihawk's swordsmanship isn't limited to flying slashes," he said quietly.
And indeed —
Just as Shanks prepared to rush forward, ready to unleash his full strength in close combat, the crew witnessed something utterly inconceivable.
Their eyes went wide, bloodshot veins spreading rapidly as they froze in shock, jaws dropping open.
In the very center of the battlefield, Mihawk tightened his grip on Yoru with both hands, his hawk-like gaze locking fiercely on Shanks as he charged forward. Mihawk lowered his stance ever so slightly, shifting his blade back at an angle…
"Come, then!"
Clang—!
In the blink of an eye, their figures crossed.
Both swordsmen held their post-strike positions, motionless for a breath.
Mihawk glanced down first, noting a thin trail of blood spreading from beneath his left ribcage, soaking slowly into his pristine white shirt. The wound wasn't small, but he ignored it.
Across from him, Shanks did not smile in triumph — instead, his brows furrowed tightly, his expression dark.
A heartbeat later —
Splurt—!
A deep wound, nearly half a meter long, suddenly tore open across Shanks' chest, blood gushing violently and drenching his upper body in crimson.
Shanks stared at the wound in disbelief, then slowly turned to face the man with the black blade.
After a brief moment of shock, a faint smile curved his lips.
"So this… is the world's greatest swordsman, huh? That really was one hell of a strike…"
"This duel…"
"I've lost."
...
"Uwaaaaaahhh!!!"
"Uuuuuhhhh!!!"
On the deck, Shanks sat cross-legged as several burly crewmates fussed around him, wrapping his torso in bandages, their faces twisted with exaggerated grief.
Shanks tilted his head in confusion.
"Come on, don't look so gloomy! See? I'm fine, aren't I?"
"And losing to someone stronger isn't the end of the world! After all, he's the world's number one swordsman — no shame in that!"
Shanks grinned carefreely, assuming they were upset over his defeat.
But Lucky Roux and the others weren't mourning that at all. They'd just heard some rather… troubling stories about Orin.
And they quickly realized… the favor they now owed might not be so simple to repay.
"They're not crying over your loss, Shanks," Benn Beckman said calmly, cigarette dangling from his lips as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "It's about Orin."
The moment Shanks heard the full story, his reaction was even bigger than theirs.
"WHAT?! No way… this is bad!"
Judging from his expression, this news was somehow even worse than losing the duel.
"How could you guys dare to make a bet with Orin?! Back when Buggy and I were with him, we lost countless times before we finally learned one critical lesson…"
"Never — and I mean never — play games, make bets, or compete with Orin in anything."
"That guy is a total monster. Buggy and I have never beaten him!"
Upon hearing this, the entire crew fell silent, their faces pale, the weight of doom settling over them.
They huddled together miserably, as if awaiting their inevitable fate.
Only Beckman remained calm, sitting quietly at the ship's edge, puffing his cigarette and sighing softly to himself.
Who knew when they'd ever manage to pay off this debt?
Meanwhile, Orin, watching their defeated expressions, merely smirked faintly, a mischievous glint in his eye.
With a snap of his fingers, he effortlessly conjured a set of bandages, wrapping the little hawk's upper body like a mummy.
"Hey!!!"
The icy, high-strung little hawk puffed up angrily, glaring furiously at the culprit.
...
"PARTY TIME!!!"
Carrying on the proud tradition of the Roger Pirates, the Red-Haired Pirates did what they did best — whenever anything happened, big or small, they threw a feast.
Even after suffering two consecutive losses, the atmosphere aboard their ship remained lively and cheerful, the crew laughing and drinking without restraint.
Monster watched Mihawk curiously, as if trying to study some rare, exotic creature. Seeing Mihawk drink with such refined elegance, Monster attempted to mimic his movements.
Not out of mockery, but genuine respect — anyone who could defeat Shanks in swordsmanship deserved it.
Mihawk, however, paid him no mind. He was far too used to monkeys trying to imitate him.
Meanwhile, Shanks, despite his chest wound, was in high spirits, arm draped casually around Orin's shoulder as he downed another drink.
"Hey, Orin! Why don't you come travel with us for a while? With you and Mihawk onboard, our journey would be so much more exciting!!!"
Shanks' laughter rang out warmly.
Orin, holding Uta in his arms and gently pinching her tiny cheeks, shook his head with a smile.
"Can't stay long, Shanks. We've got another place to be."
"Huh? Where to?"
"The East Blue," Orin replied, lifting Uta high into the air before lowering her into Shanks' arms, making him freeze in surprise.
"I'm planning to visit Buggy."